


Scar Tissue

by oneblacksheep



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Empathy, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Murder, hallucination, light self inflicted masochism (?), long distance sugar daddy, scar kink (?), will wears gucci
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneblacksheep/pseuds/oneblacksheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real." And also, that we are alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar Tissue

In the Ritz Carlton of Naples, Florida, Will Graham wondered if Hannibal Lecter was also in Naples. Naples, Italy, perhaps in the same luxury hotel he was in.

Will Graham laid on the king sized bed of his ocean facing suite, closing his eyes against the already dark room. The only light came from the open balcony windows, letting in the dark purples, blues, and grays of dusk. Illuminating and shadowing Will's shorts-clad form, dimly revealing a cleanly shaven man with neck length wavy hair brushed back, that made him look like he belonged in a place like this. A place paid with a single black card mailed to him from an untraceable address. Will knew he should have never used it, should have turned it in as evidence, but he found a perverse thrill in knowing that somewhere Hannibal received a notification of every purchase he made. He wondered what Hannibal was doing now, what he was thinking.  

_Hannibal doesn't wear suits everywhere he goes now, there is no need. No, now he wears dark linen slacks, fitted to his measurements. He wears crisp white shirts and only buttons the top when he works. He still works. Not as a psychiatrist, as something he was before; maybe an artist. He wears leather loafers without socks, but he doesn't stand out anymore than other wealthy citizens. His hair is no longer held in place by gels not found on shelves, but he still keeps it trimmed. His face is never with stubble or hair, he likes the warm air that kisses his cheeks. He is somewhere warm, someplace he had a previous life._

_He's satisfied where he is. He's satisfied with his companion. He thinks about Will everyday, by choice. He thinks of possible outcomes, but does not dwell on them. He knows, just as Will knows, there will be a reunion someday. He is not worried about it. He knows Will is not worried about being found. A mutual want, that keeps them connected, that keeps him in Will's head._

Will opens his eyes and feels a deep peace settle through his bones, almost lazy.

He brings one hand to his bare chest, feels the sparse hair that had grown there in his late teenage years. He thinks about how different Hannibal's chest and his own are.

He brings his hand lower, and traces with his finger atop his belly button. He traces lower, dipping into the inversion, then back out, tracing faint dark hairs. The soft hairs stop, and now he traces much slower. The skin is tight and pinched-looking in a thin line around much softer tissue. He feels his fingers minutely slope up as he runs them along the horizontal stretch just below his navel. He breathes faster and feels his heart rate increase, but he remains tranquil and bared in the moment. He wonders if Hannibal touches his scars, too. 

He feared the scar. He was embarrassed about fearing it. Laying in his hospital bed nearly a year before, he should have been thinking of more important things, but what he found himself thinking about more often than not, was the scar that would be left behind. He did not want the reminder, or so he thought at the time. He thought that every time he would see himself in the mirror, he would throw up. He thought that every time he bathed himself and touched, what he thought would be a gnarly mass of dead skin splayed across his abdomen, he would relive that night, over and over. He thought that the pain he knew he would feel if he turned the wrong way, or bent over, or stretched, he would be taken back to that night. He would have to relive seeing Alana, not seeing Jack, and nearly worst of all, seeing Abigail. The very worst he thought he would have to relive was seeing Hannibal. Seeing Hannibal, knowing the monster god he was, knowing how deeply his feelings had rooted to the man who destroyed his life. He thought he would have to relive the devastated feelings he saw in Hannibal's tear-blurred eyes. The treachery, the deception, the betrayal; Will thought he would have to relive the feelings, and the fact that he could still understand those feelings from such an unholy being as Hannibal.

And he did.

For two months his life was wrecked with the mind, body, and soul consuming anxiety that is Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. 

The only thing that led him out on his darkest days was, ironically enough, holding imaginary conversations with Hannibal in his head. It took Will a while to accept it, but between Alana's constant worry for him, and Jack's own special kind of worry, he knew he had to do whatever it took. 

And it did help. Will wonders if Hannibal talks to him in his own mind, as well. 

Will's finger twitches along the impossibly soft skin. The scar wasn't the hideous growth he had imagined it would be months ago. It was gruesome at first glance, but closer, one would appreciate the slightly jagged line. Will often thought it resembled a diagram of an electrocardiogram, one whose patient's heart was beating too fast, causing erratic spikes along the horizontal line. He wonders if Hannibal did that on purpose.

He thinks he shouldn't like it so much, but he doesn't find the stirring reaction below the reminder unwanted. He knows Hannibal did it on purpose now. He knows Hannibal knows that he had found it repulsive and the idea of finding the marred reminder arousing had nearly eaten him alive with guilt in the beginning of recovery. He knows Hannibal knows that he likes it now. His scar reminds him of his near literal death, and it makes him feel alive.

He brings the hand that had been resting on his bed to his thigh. With each valley and mountain of soft tissue his fingers skim over, he finds his shorts more and more constricting. The hand on his thigh slowly wanders to his inner thighs, rubbing the now healthy and sun kissed skin. He lets his hand continue up, stroking up the bulge, only making the restriction his shorts provided tighter.

He sighs as he unzips the tailored article. When he decided to move, he decided a new life, or at least a temporary one. He thinks the lavishness of the lifestyle he now leads is only mirroring Hannibal, the man he should hate. But he doesn't care.

He removes his hand from the beloved scar long enough to slide off the most expensive shorts he had ever thought to own. He feels blood rush faster through his body, and feels himself hardening more when he sees his Emporio Armani briefs. They felt much better than the Walmart brand he had been accustomed to, and the fact that he had paid so much, _no_ , that he let Hannibal pay so much for his most intimate clothing items excited him nearly as much as his scar alone. 

He palms himself slowly and lets his fingers drift back to his scar, idly running his fingers along the broad strip. He closes his eyes and thinks that Hannibal must imagine him in the purchases he makes on his card.

_Hannibal was not averse to masturbation, indulging one's own pleasure would always be acceptable to him. However, he discovered at an early age that he did not require that specific type of release. That is not to say he did not enjoy it, the seldom times he had done it. He did not anticipate the feelings that manifested themselves in his groin when Will began using the card. He found a possibility in both ways that Will would either use it, or turn it in, but never did the idea cross that there was a possibility Will would indulge as he had done. At most, if anything, he expected perhaps a new vehicle, a kennel, cheap whiskeys and fishing poles, maybe._

_Hannibal knows Will does it on purpose, he knows Will knows he won't break Hannibal's banks, no matter how extravagant the purchases get. He knows Will knows he sees everything he buys, he knows Will is courting him. It is so refreshing and unbearably arousing when he gets a notification from his bank. One day Will buys lunch at a sushi restaurant that he himself would approve of. The next day he buys a Rolex Cellini Time, and the bill comes in at just under $6,000._

_Hannibal is extremely prideful of his self control, and it pleases him so, that Will can make him excuse himself for the evening earlier than normal, or abandon his current art piece just to relieve himself when the pressure is too much to bear. Sometimes Will makes large purchases around 10 p.m. where Hannibal lives, and Hannibal knows he does it on purpose. He is still just as profoundly pleased that Will can seduce him through petty purchases, just as Will had seduced him with the promise of murder, of becoming._

 

Will's breathing pattern becomes shaky and quick. The idea of making Hannibal lose control so easily, even from so far away, nearly sends him over the edge before he can even take off his briefs.

He takes deeper breaths so he can make his pleasure build up and last when it comes. He abandons his scar once more to roll off his underwear, revealing tan lines along his thighs.

The breeze that comes off the ocean fills Will's room. He looks out to the waves, and briefly imagines Hannibal is somewhere across the ocean, watching him.

Will lays a warm hand along his belly, feeling his scar under his palm as he slowly wraps his forefinger and thumb around the base of his shaft. A grin tugs at his lips, recalling how nervous he was when he bought the personal grooming kit online with the card. An entire kit dedicated to a man's groin. Will thought it was too much and even a little ridiculous at the time, and debated just paying with his own money, but the excitement of Hannibal knowing such personal information outweighed his worries.

Will's tongue flicks out and wets his bottom lip before his teeth clamp on the pink flesh. His eyes flutter closed and he leans his head back further against the pillows as he works himself off. He keeps the ring shape with his two fingers around his cock for several strokes, then wraps all of his fingers around the twitching muscle.

He elicits the softest of moans when he runs the pad of his thumb around the underside of his head. He closes his eyes and wonders how Hannibal strokes himself. 'Does he only tug?' He asks himself, giving his cock a slow pull. 'He's probably uncut. European men. He probably uses lube, and only the best kind. The kind that can make him feel like he's not doing it alone.' Will blushes beautifully with his arousal, his face matching the deep hues of his cock. 'He's so meticulous, a perfectionist.' Will lets out a throaty moan when his hand tightens around his shaft. 'I bet his head is even more sensitive when exposed. Christ.' Will curses when he runs the pad of his thumb over the slit of his glands. He brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it, then back down to circle his head, thinking that Hannibal does the same.

He pumps his fist quicker around his dick, wondering what Hannibal would do were he there with him. 'Probably ask me how it makes me feel.' He lets out a breath laugh, feeling his scar rise and fall with his stomach under his hand.

His mouth drops open when he presses down on the reminder, the most sensitive and receptive spot, right under his navel. He presses harder, slowly, and whimpers through clenched teeth at the dull pain. It only makes him pump himself faster.

Keeping one hand pressing all along his scar, he lets his other slow, and work lower. He cups his balls in a squeeze, and grits his teeth when he pulls on them. He keeps them cupped in his hand, but extends his middle finger to stroke against his perineum. He presses gently and tugs his scrotum further back, the stretch slowly unraveling his control to hold back. 

He plants his feet against the bed and spreads his legs open, letting his finger dip lower and lower until he is circling his entrance. 'Has Hannibal penetrated himself?' He wonders, now panting as he rubs his fingers along his scar faster and faster. 

He only circles his rim and presses around his opening. The farthest he works his finger in is to the nail. He likes to think it is only because he does not have lube, but also maybe because he likes the feeling of not having yet been penetrated fully. 'Hannibal left too early.' Will thinks when he brings his hand back up to his shaft. 

Sweat collects just under his chest, and he moves his hand from his shaft to his nipples. He strokes softer against the scar and lightly pinches around the areola of his right nipple. He thinks Hannibal's nipples are probably sensitive too, as the flesh around his own pebbles and tightens. He reaches down to his cock head and rubs off the dribble of precum that began spilling out minutes ago.

He rubs the colorless fluid against his nipples, shuddering at the warmth. He thinks Hannibal would pay just as much attention to his nipples as he would his dick. He pinches his nipples against the sticky warmth and imagines Hannibal's warm mouth around them instead.

'God.' He groans, letting his hand drop back down to his needy cock. ' "Yes?" ' He imagines Hannibal asking, and laughs, bright and breathless as he begins pumping himself again.

'If he were here,' He thinks, his head becoming dizzy and vision slowly blurring as his orgasm builds. 'He probably wouldn't even take his clothes off. He'd watch me, tell me how I should touch myself, what would feel better. _He_ would feel better.' His mind creates images of a fully dressed Hannibal, sitting on the lounge chair across from the bed.

He would fix his eyes on Will's own, ignoring his cock and spread legs. He would let his smoldering, consuming eyes burn his body to a crisp and devour him whole. He would let his gaze fall to the mark he left, marking Will as his and his only. 

Will can feel a flooding warmth in his inner thighs, in his arms, all over. He strokes his cock down and watches it slap against his stomach, his mark, when he releases it. It's sinful how good it feels.

Will pants heavily now, noises coming from his mouth without conscious knowledge. He needed something else, though. He finally let off of his scar and brought his fingers to his mouth, sloppily licking each one. He brings them back to the destroyed skin and drags them along the marred flesh. 'Hannibal would want to taste it.' He tells himself and suddenly he doesn't feel his fingers at all. Instead, he feels a hot pressing tongue, licking broadly along the jagged way. He squeezes his cock, just under his head and roughly begins fucking his own fist.

In his mind's eye, Hannibal looks up from licking his mark, and makes Will look into his dark eyes.

Will isn't sure if he's stopped moving completely, or if he just can't feel anything at the moment.

Hannibal lowers his head again, keeping his eyes on Will's, and slowly, so slow and precisely, he bares his teeth, and sinks them into the soft tissue.

Will's mouth falls open, his eyes squeeze shut, and he feels heat rush into his ears, his arms, his hands, his legs, his feet.

His back arches and he feels like that is the only position he wants to be in for the rest of his life. His calves tighten under the pressure of his body pushing down against the bed, then a damp heat plasters across his thighs and sternum.

He feels another flowing heat, warm and slow. Through white vision he looks down and sees Hannibal's eyes shut in ecstasy, dark rubies spill from his mouth, still clamped onto Will's abdomen.

Everything is too hot, but it feels so revitalizing to Will. He thinks he has never felt this alive and perceptive as he is now, even as his own consciousness slips into a burning white haze.

The energy of Will's crashing orgasm seemed to fade slowly from the room. The heat that felt so all-consuming minutes before began cooling down, aided by the approaching nightly breeze off of the ocean.

Will felt himself rising back to the brink of consciousness. He felt like he was rising from a deep warm pit. ' "How are you going to make me pay, Will?" ' He imagined Hannibal asking, challenging.

A slow, lazy grin spread across Will's face when he opened his eyes again.

He looked down at his precious scar and found it stained a beautiful scarlet. Branches of red from his coveted mark slugged across his stomach. He turned his head slowly to the side to look at the hand not resting on his thigh, exhaustion from the orgasm that ripped through him making such a simple task seem like the hardest thing he'd ever done. He licked his lips at his blood stained fingertips, caked under the carefully manicured nails and tracking down each finger in sluggish movement.

He almost did not get out of bed to prepare for the night. Almost.

' "How are you going to make me pay, Will?" ' The words rang through his mind clearly, and Will briefly entertained the notion that Hannibal truly could see him from across the ocean, and that he could just as easily talk to him.

As though being shocked back to life, Will rushed to get out of bed, eager to show Hannibal how he was going to make him pay. He had to slow down and balance himself against the bedroom walls with his elbow, so as not to stain the walls with ejaculate and blood.

He found his grin hard to control when he made it to the shower, washing away the evidence of his guilty pleasure. ' "One should never feel guilty of their pleasures." ' He could hear Hannibal remind him as he stepped out of the vast shower and dried off with towels that would have cost more than his shoes did, in Virginia.

'Shut up.' He told himself with a smile, brushing his hair back. He pulled out a small first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink and cleaned and bandaged the slight reopening of his favorite marking. 

Having already traded in his flannels and teacher salary slacks, Will spent a little more time in deciding what he would wear.

He checked himself in the mirror before he left, making sure he looked presentable. After all, the gentleman he was meeting for dinner loved presentation.

A black turtle neck, gray blazer and pressed black trousers looked better on him than he would have ever believed in the past. All tailored, all charged to the card in his wallet. He slipped on a pair of black Gucci boots he had bought in his early days of spending Hannibal's money, hoping it would make the man mad that he had spent so much.

He only gave a small smile as he dabbed, what he believed would be, a Hannibal-approved cologne on either side of his neck.

With a few minutes to spare before meeting his date, Will re-read the paper on the suite's coffee table.

'Chesapeake Ripper Copy-Cat At It Again' The headline read, not displaying more than the most recent victim's chest and face. In the background were stained glass windows, and Will knew the reason they didn't show more than the chest up, was because the bottom half of the man was not attached.

Finally leaving his room that matched those of royalty, Will climbed into his brand new Bentley Continental GT and drove to the agreed upon restaurant. 

-

Though not needing to wake up at any particular time, Hannibal still enjoyed following his schedule he had created in Maryland. Before getting out of bed, however, he decided to open his tablet and see if anything interesting had happened while he slept. 

First, that had become a habit for him, he checked if he had any new notifications from a bank in another country, should Will ever get the notion to track the card, or someone else get the notion to track it for him. A statement from a seafood restaurant. Hannibal narrowed his eyes and set his jaw at the bill. He didn't care about the money, but he highly doubted Will ate that much in money by himself.

He shouldn't feel the dark rumblings of jealousy, but Will had the habit of not only affecting his libido, but his well hidden possessiveness as well. 

A few other purchases were made, but Hannibal was feeling too agitated to make any sense of the seemingly random purchases.

Huffing in child-like annoyance, Hannibal opened The National Tattler.

'Chesapeake Copy-Cat Found Hanging By Own Entrails'

Hannibal clicked the small piece of news from...Florida. Will was staying in Florida, according to the shops and restaurants transactions of his banking statements. 

'Unidentified man who is believed to be linked to the recreations of the heinous murders committed by Hannibal 'The Cannibal' Lecter was found early this morning hanging by his own intestines from a post on an ocean front boardwalk in Naples, Florida. No witnesses have been reported, and detectives say the Copy-Cat's murderer left no traceable evidence behind. The brutality of the murder makes that hard to believe. However, officials do say, that a single shoe print was left in the pulled blood. A size 11 Gucci brand shoe. Either the real Chesapeake Ripper is back at it again, though no organs were taken, or he has friends in low places.'

Hannibal switched back to his bank notifications and read the purchases again.

_6:27 pm 1 Linoleum Knife at Home Depot: $4.97_

_6:56 pm 1 box of Disposable Medical Gloves at Walmart: $2.99_

_7:15 pm 1 pack of Disposable Seat Covers For Dogs at [privately owned]: $60.99_

_8:30 pm Card used at Agreable Nourriture: $176.99_

_11:49 pm Room Service Single Dessert ordered: $26.00_

'William.' Hannibal praised in his head, the stirrings of jealousy now replaced with stirrings of a much different nature.

Ten minutes later that same name was reverent on his breath.

' "How does that make _you_ feel, Doctor Lecter?" ' The words made themselves known again in Hannibal's mind as he came down from his pleasure. 

Will's name turned into a halfhearted curse as the sun began to shine through his curtains. He found himself smiling, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly with the barest upturn of his lips. 

He felt alive, and he knew Will felt it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry the tenses change so much (past, present, future, who really knows tbh)  
> also p. sure Agreable Nourtiture just means nice food in French


End file.
